


various crises of attraction

by glacecherie



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dirty Talk, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-11-02 11:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20731946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacecherie/pseuds/glacecherie
Summary: predictably, i am not done with dumb drabble writing...1. travis/nolan mob au, or: nolan - even injured - makes travis want to bite him and also be very fond at him. it's all fine.2. gabe/tyson, fuck me dumb, or: the lesbian au where gabe takes her girl apart by calling her sweet names and pressing at bruises3. travis/nolan, princess, or: travis and nolan are stoned and travis just wants to kiss him and give him petnames4. zach/willy, cinnamon, marble, lye: the bakery au is back, with added intricate rituals5. travis/nolan, grit your teeth and keep your distance, or: halloween fic where travis isn't human, and nolan hates being fascinated6. gabe/tyson, good job you're cute, or: lesbian kid fic where gabe still doesn't let up her gentle mockery7. travis/nolan, clean and sharp, or: mob au where nolan maybe gets off on travis being a capable dumbass that's protective of him8. gabe/tyson, displayed, or: more lesbian au, where gabe talks tyson to coming by suggesting sharing her with the team





	1. don't be so cut up about it

**Author's Note:**

> Happy is a good look on him, and it makes Travis wants to bite.
> 
> He does, very carefully, along Nolan's jaw. Hands tighten in the back of his shirt, so Travis keeps going. He unzips the hoodie Nolan only just put on and slots a thigh between his, but holds his hips down.
> 
> "Try and move." He smirks.

Nolan spits blood, and Travis feels his own blood boil under his skin. He wishes that this wasn't par for the course, that he didn't have this instinctive reaction, and yet -

Well, it _is_ and he _does_. Only this time Nolan wasn't even working. He'll call Claude when he's calmed down.

"It's fine." Nolan says, and undermines the sentiment immediately when he cringes from moving his mouth.

"It isn't fucking _fine_." TK grits out, jaw set. He reaches into the medicine cabinet and Nolan checks his teeth gingerly in the mirror. "Your hand is a fucking state too."

"Happens."

"You wouldn't say that if it was me."

"If someone jumped you, I'd understand."

TK scrubs the cut on his lip with disinfectant, and Nolan winces enough he nearly falls into the worktop.

"_Fuck_!" He bitches, and TK uses his distraction to wipe over the one on his cheekbone too. "Ow!"

"Yeah, yeah. Tell someone who cares." He says, even though, debilitatingly, he _does_ care.

Nolan grimaces his way through the two entire butterfly stitches he needs. He hated when he split his lip all the way through the year before, so Travis doesn't chirp him _too_ much about being sensitive over it. He also wants to mother hen him half to death, but that's secret he'll take to his grave.

-

"How the fuck did you get blood in your hair?" TK asks later.

"Don't worry about it." Nolan says, and hunches over to wash it in the kitchen sink.

"Jesus _christ_, take a shower!" He shrieks, because he's barely domesticated himself, but they do the dishes in there. There's a fucking line.

Nolan pauses in reaching for the liquid soap. His hair is dripping into a coffee mug, and TK shudders and grabs him by his hood to drag him away, injured or not.

"Fuck off, I took a shower this morning!" Nolan flails, and TK ignores him.

-

"You run the water too hot." He whines, and Travis rolls his eyes and does not at all get distracted by how his skin is pinking up. Well, like. Pinking up more. He's totally got _standards_ for what he finds attractive, but apparently they're so low that Nolan meets them.

"Yeah, that's not my problem." TK says, scrubbing his face. When he rinses and opens his eyes, Nolan is holding out the shampoo to him.

"My hair is clean?"

"Not you, me. Hand's fucked, remember."

"Oh my god -"

"I washed yours that one time-"

"I'd broken my arm?"

"And?"

TK wants to chirp him some more, _holy fuck_ does he want to, but Nolan looks slightly cowed and exhausted, so he takes pity.

"Can't believe I've been with you this long. Shut your fucking eyes."

"4 years, yeah baby." Nolan sighs, leaning against the wall as TK lathers his gross hair.

"Worst 4 years of my life." He grumbles, and _maybe_ he doesn't mean it, _maybe_ tonight he's in a soft, kinda vaguely horny mood now that he's checked Nolan isn't dying. _Whatever_. Sex can be life affirming, and Nolan is leaning into his hand and groaning, and Travis is weak.

-

Travis kisses him, gentle and mindful of his lip when they're in their sleep clothes. He doesn't mean it to progress any, just a reassurance. Only, Nolan makes a tiny noise, and it's like a dam breaks.

He's a little strung out from the single dose of codeine they had for emergencies (more for his kicked ribs than anything) and being treated softly, and like -

It's a good look on him, and it makes Travis wants to bite.

He does, very carefully, along Nolan's jaw. His hands tighten in the back of his shirt, so Travis keeps going. He unzips the hoodie Nolan only just put on and slots a thigh between his, but holds his hips down.

"Try." He smirks.<strike></strike>

Nolan attempts to rub off on him, and groans and _laughs_ when he's held down too fast, and TK is just. Very gone on him. _Oof_.

"Fuck you."

"I'd rather fuck you. Besides, you're into this."

"I'm actually not."

"You _are_. You told me when you were drunk."

"..._Fuck_"

"Hah, eloquent."

"Congrats in using such a big word, but being eloquent is the last thing on my mind right now."

Travis waggles his eyebrows at him until he huffs, because making Nolan's composure break is fun and free to do.

"Oh yeah? What is on your mind?"

Nolan rolls his eyes and pulls him down again.

TK sucks a darker mark over one of bruises on Nolan's collarbone and gets a weird possessive thrill from it. Nolan is _his_ to mark up, thank you. He feels the shiver the runs through him, and pets Nolan's chest. He waits.

"I want -" Nolan starts, then sucks air between his teeth when TK grazes his nipple. His fingers dig into Travis' back harder. "I want you to fuck me, bite or scratch or just - _something_. I don't mind bruises when it's you - _fuck_ -"

His voice is shakier than it was previously, and Travis can barely stop himself preening again. Nolan flipping from chirpy to soft to this is just so _good_, even if he is saying it like a challenge to save face. TK won't call him on it.

He sets his teeth against Nolan's throat.

-

The following morning, Travis wakes up first. He's not cripplingly co-dependant, he's _not_, but he doesn't quite know what to do with himself until Nolan wakes up, so he goes for a run.

When he gets back, he has three new messages:

07.45: _where r u_

07.45: _bring me caffeine you bitch_

07.47: ❤_love u_

He screenshots it for blackmail purposes. Then he fires up the coffee machine.


	2. by the throat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Christ, you're made for this. For me." Gabe whispers, and Tyson moans brokenly when she gives her three and spreads them inside her, mean. "See, look at you. You really think you can hide this from our team? That they can't tell?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't talk to me about Tyson Barrie :(

Gabe says_ let me_ when she presses her thumb against Tyson's lower lip, and it's exactly what she said earlier in the night before they went out, Tyson thinks, only _slightly_ hysterical.

(She'd been valiantly struggling with a dress that she couldn't get over her ass, and it'd made her reevaluate her entire career. What good is hockey if she can't wear things that make hot women want to nail her without needing to contort herself and break a sweat? Gabe had stared at her from the other bed a little while, smirking, then walked over and heaved it onto her with a swift pull. Her fingers brushed her bare back when she'd done up the buttons.

Tyson had wanted to say two things, right then. The first was _I'd rather you take it off me,_ and the second was _ha ha nice arms, oh god_.)

She lets her mouth fall open, and she doesn't know whether to lick or to bite or to wait, and it's agonising to decide on the latter. Gabe just says _fuck_ under her breath, thumb pressing at her tongue, and Tyson can't stop herself from sucking at it, feeling gratified when she looks up through her lashes and she's getting stared right back at.

Gabe's fingers tighten under her chin, and she pushes further in. She has big hands, enough that Tyson chokes. She tries to play it off, but Gabe does it again, and _fuck_. It's on _purpose_. Fuck. Her skin prickles, and when she opens her mouth and pulls her fingers out, she smears them across Tyson's cheek.

She twitches, heat pooling in her belly from it. Her lipstick is a perfect print where Gabe's thumb joins her palm, like proof, lewd. It makes her throb. She keeps her mouth open.

"_Fuck_. Wish I had my strap with me, princess." Gabe says, hand brushing through Tyson's hair, down her nape, and she makes an instinctive little noise. She doesn't know if it's from the nickname or the way she can picture so vividly what it'd be like if she did have it with her. Would she let Tyson use her hand, or would she push it away? Would she fuck her mouth, or would she get Tyson to do it all by herself, so eager that she'd make her own eyes water?

"Mmf? She replies, lips pressed to Gabe's palm and looking up at her. She wishes she'd worn trousers with an inseam to grind against, because other than her underwear sticking to where she's wet, there's nothing.

"I'd fuck you so good, fuck you dumb. You want that, right? For me to own you? Make you be _good_?"

Tyson feels the blood rush to her face, cheeks warming, mouth snapping shut at the shudder that zips through her. She hopes it's answer enough. She's been on her knees long enough that her legs are getting uncomfortable.

"Right?" Gabe presses, giving her hair a tug.

Tyson rolls her eyes without thinking, so used to their back and forth, and Gabe slaps her cheek lightly, just the once. The little _ah_\- sound she makes is completely unintentional.

Gabe is looking at her so impassively that it makes her squirm. It makes her want to wrap her legs around Gabe's waist and beg for _something_, anything. Her mouth feels empty. Her cunt aches so much she feels the echo of it in her belly. She wants fingers in her, maybe not even fucking her at first. Making her wait just like this, just the tips pushed inside, the torture of almost having what she needs to make her be still and just take it.

"Yeah, _fuck_, I want it, want you to make me be -"

"Be?"

Tyson whimpers.

"_Good_. To be good for you and let you just - fuck me up, ruin my life" - she pauses to giggle, manic, because the desperation is almost making her feel high - "whatever, _anything_, just give me-"

She's being a brat, but it's that or tearful, so whatever.

Her hand inches slowly up her own leg. She thinks it's unseen until Gabe kicks it away. _She's got odd socks on,_ she realises dumbly.

"No."

"What the fuck is wrong with -"

Gabe pulls her hair, rougher now, meaning it.

"I said _no_. Can you not control yourself, not even for a few minutes? _Jesus_. It's like you want me to pin you and turn your ass red."

Tyson _sobs_. The ache of between her legs is even worse now. She wants that, maybe inside her thighs too, maybe high up enough that she gets a little spikes of fear over the idea of her hand slipping, catching her right between-

"Fuck, get up here, come on." She hisses, and hauls Tyson up on her shaky legs by the front of her dress. A couple of buttons fly off the side, slipping and rubbing over her nipples, almost completely exposing her. It was designer, but she doesn't even care about the fucking thing, scrambling to climb into Gabe's lap.

_I belong here_, she thinks. _With you, to you._

Moving shifts her panties against her, and she whines again. Gabe kisses her and it's brutal, sinking her teeth into Tyson's lip like she means it to sting. Her hand is inching up her thigh at a snail's pace, and her other pulls her dress down to squeeze at her breast, pinching her nipple. It makes her reckless, and she grabs Gabe's wrist and drags it snug between her thighs, holding it there and shaking against the pressure finally, _finally_ right where she needs it.

Gabe tuts, finally pulling away. Tyson pants. Her hips move in juddering little hitches and she knows she's being easy, but she's past caring.

She's staring at Tyson's mouth, and Tyson looks her in the eye and licks her lips, because if she puts some effort in, she could have the upper hand here.

"Jesus," Gabe hisses. "You look like you've had your mouth fucked."

Tyson keens.

"Hey now, don't come over shy, you know it's true. You know you'd let me use you like that, anyway. I think you like it, really. You like people knowing. You think I don't remember that time you came in covered in hickies before I got with you? It made my blood boil. I wanted you so bad, but I think you knew that, right?"

Tyson sobs.

Gabe pinches her thigh, _hard_, until she wriggles like she wants to pull away, or does until she traces her slit through the fabric.

"You did it on purpose, didn't you? Answer me."

She falls forward until her head is tucked into Gabe's neck.

"Yes - oh, _fuck_, please keep going, _please_ -"

"Then keep talking."

"I - I wanted you to see and, I don't know, I didn't think it through. It was good but I thought of you the whole time, and that time when you yanked my ch- _fuck_, chain in the locker room, to get me attention, it made my knees weak, and -"

"Come on, babygirl. Tell me."

_Jesus_, that pet name. It makes her head spin.

"Fuck, I just. I wanted to get on my knees there and then, okay?"

Gabe hooks her panties to one side, waiting, enjoying the way Tyson has unconsciously grabbed her hair in anticipation.

"Why didn't you, honey?"

She pushes a finger into her, slow. Tyson yelps, thighs trying to close. Tough luck.

"I - Gabe please, come on, _please?_"

She shakes her head.

"If you want more that this, if you even want me to curl my finger, you'll keep going."

"B-because people would see?" She pants, glad that Gabe can't see her face, that Gabe is letting her hide it.

Gabe snorts.

"Oh _sweetheart_, you think they don't know? That they'd be surprised even if you did? You get so mouthy sometimes, always trying to rile people up, or chirp. Might be an improvement, shutting you up. Having everyone know as clear as day that-"

She nips Tyson's throat and pushes another finger into her. She's soaked, and it makes her feel wanton.

"-you're all mine, only mine."

Tyson nods furiously, and Gabe pulls her away from hiding by her hair to look at her.

"Yours, _please_ -" and oh, she didn't even realise she was crying. She must look so such a mess, damp cheeks and lipstick smeared beyond repair.

"Good girl, my beautiful girl, go on, fuck yourself for me."

She doesn't even answer this time, just does as she's told, working her hips like it's her job.

"Christ, you're _made for this_. For me." Gabe whispers, and Tyson moans brokenly when she gives her three and spreads them inside her, mean. "See, look at you. You really think you can hide this from our team? That they can't tell?"

She curls her fingers, rubs, presses her thumb to the soft bit just above her pubic bone like she can feel herself inside, and Tyson wants to scream.

"You know when I give you the strap, I wish it was real sometimes, just so I could know what you feel like."

_Christ_, that's - _new_. New and so scorchingly hot she clenches hard enough that Gabe stills inside her.

"Yeah? You like that idea?"

She nods, and arches her back.

"_Fuck_, who'd have thought you're such a slut? Not just eager, easy. You're a _slut_, baby, you know that?"

Her thumb traces Tyson's clit and she bites her lip hard, not trusting herself not to say nasty shit she won't be able to take back, and she lets Gabe take her to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got away from me and technically I have a whole fic of this ready to go, but 2000 words ain't exactly a ficlet, so here's the short version! 
> 
> Lemme know what you think and feel free to toss prompts to me on tumblr @ klenovyy


	3. princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis watches the shape of Nolan's profile, stark against the city lights behind him, fascinated. He wants to commit it to memory. Whatever, it's a good profile. He wants to like, run his finger down it, forehead, nose mouth, chin, mouth. Mouth.

Travis watches the shape of Nolan's profile, stark against the city lights behind him, fascinated. He wants to commit it to memory. Whatever, it's a good profile. He wants to like, run his finger down it, forehead, nose mouth, chin, mouth. _Mouth_.

He laughs without meaning to, because in the past when he's pointed out that Nolan is _pretty_ to get a rise out of him, or that his cheeks are real rosy that day, his lips a always flatten to a thin line and he insists on how he's definitely, definitely not pissed off.

He's such a dumb fuck, but maybe Travis wants him to be _his_ dumb fuck specifically, _for keeps._ He enjoys him so much.

He doesn't, however, enjoy how he's a joint hog.

"Stop being so _greedy_, jesus."

He makes to grab it back and Nolan looks him in the eye and takes another long inhale, until he goofs and starts laughing at Travis' horrified expression.

"You're such an asshole, fuck." Travis grumbles, snatching it away from him. The rest is his, because if he doesn't put his foot down Nolan won't learn.

He says as such.

"What the _fuck_, that isn't fair?"

He's high enough he isn't as stoic, sounds a little whiny. Travis hates that it's _endearing_.

"Such a fucking princess." He says under his breath, fond. Nolan slaps his leg because he's a _brat_, and Travis wants to thumb his mouth open and shotgun the smoke back to him. Bite his lips red. Know what he'd sound like coming. Wants maybe to be careful with him and to call him _princess_ in a non-chirpy way.

He shudders, and Nolan is melted into his side. TK doesn't realise the fingers tracing the collarbone scar when Nolan's shirt has fallen loose at the neck are his until they're already doing it.

Fuck.

Nolan sighs at him and _smiles_, hidden under his hair, all dimples and slapped cheeks. TK's fingers catch against Nolan's chain.

He wants to pull him in by it and nip his mouth until it opens. He wants to see if he marks easily.

Instead, he gives it a single tug and lets it go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love two (2) fucking idiots


	4. cinnamon, marble, lye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zach reaches one of his arms over Willy's and guides his hand to dip his fingers into the bowl of ice to his right. Cold hands are best for baking. It's freezing, naturally, but the bits where Zach's fingers hold are still warm.
> 
> That's flirting. He's fairly sure. Maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of the bakery au I wrote in my zach/willy drabbles the last time around and it would not leave my head, so here we are!

Willy begins having Hot Baker related meltdowns approximately two weeks after he meets him. Like, sit in his car and scream silently meltdowns. Since meeting Hot Baker Guy, he learns five things about him:

• He's called Zach

• He's 4 years older than Willy

• He saves "the best one" for him out of Friday's specialty batch

• He's not usually working Saturday, hence Willy adjusting the day he visits to Friday.

• He has really nice arms in a really wholesome way, and Willy wants to sink his teeth into them very unwholesomely

The third point is the one that makes willy lose his shit. He saves the best one for him. From something he's gone to great effort to make perfectly. He saves Willy delicious perfect things, and their fingers touch when he passes the little ribbon tied box over, and is Kas aware, is he _really_ aware of how Willy won't survive this??

Kas looks at him impassively, and steals the last wine braised peach from the top of the custard tart before Willy can stop him.

"Yeah dude, you save the notes he sticks to the lid. You've hung the ribbons on your mirror. It's getting a bit like you're a stalker. "

Willy twitches.

"Wait, why have you been going in my room?"

"Honestly? If it's a really good dessert you take it upstairs and don't share, and I'm more than happy to steal it back."

"Steal back? Steal _back_? It was never yours to take in the first place!"

He knows his voice is climbing higher because like, _meltdown_ or whatever.

Kas looks like he cares the least a man can care.

"Don't worry, I'll save you the ribbon."

He dodges the balled up napkin Willy hurls at him.

-

There's a marble worktop behind the display cabinet, the kind that couples on property shows rave about, but it's usually covered in flour or various bowls or utensils. Zach is also usually working at it, and on a slow day, Willy will lean over the counter and stare and talk to him.

The guy on the cash desk that day looks a little like - in another world - he's a wholesome young boy from a children's book, all big eyes and dimples. In this world, "Travis" is side-eyeing him like he's transparent or something and keeps getting yelled at for not wearing his name tag.

He leans close when Zach ducks into the storeroom and Willy jumps because he was distracted by the shape of Zach's shoulders. He really is going through it.

"You know, he'll be here for like an hour after we close, right?"

He honest to god _winks_.

"Uh? I'm just here for food!" He replies, both for too quickly, and far too cheery.

Travis looks at him like he's extremely stupid.

"I'll be going in about thirty minutes."

"Have a safe journey home." Willy says, and they stare at each other like how cats weighing each other up do. He half expects Travis to very slowly smack him on the head.

The moment passes, because Travis says "_jesus fucking christ_", and that's the end of that.

-

Sometimes _maybe_ Willy stays, _maybe_ he lingers, _maybe_ he looks at the window steaming up and the neat little rows of heart shaped pretzels Zach is making like it's not big deal, and imagines them married with kids. It's _fine_, mostly.

It is absolutely _fine_ when Zach flips the open sign to closed, invites him behind the counter, and talks to him about his life and stuff. He's okay, and isn't yelling on the inside.

"What's that for?" He asks, nodding to the bowl of liquid the pretzels are being dipped in.

"Lye, makes the crust better. Burns if it gets on your skin, though."

He gestures to a small pink mark on his arm.

"Oh, ouch. Wait, is it safe to eat?"

Zach snorts at him. Regretably, he's endeared.

"No, I've been feeding you poison all these weeks." He laughs, and Willy isn't blushing, he's not. It's just this is very domestic and out of reach and he's dumb over it.

He draws mindless patterns in the flour on the counter, and listens when Zach explains that half of them will be maple pecan and the other half cinnamon sugar, but he's being experimenting with flavour ratios. His stomach grumbles, though not audibly.

He does, however, spot one of the long rolls of dough left out from the batch.

"Hey, you missed one."

Zach's head is tilted down and Willy thinks his eyelashes are real nice (?!) and he's not sure if he's gone all pink or its just the heat from the ovens.

"Yeah, it's for you."

Willy looks puzzled, and Zach peels the gloves he'd been using to dip the pretzels and shuffles around the counter. It's very small. Or maybe it just seems smaller because Zach is stood behind him where he's perched on a stool, and he's moved Willy's hand aside to redistribute the flour he'd been idly drawing in.

"For you to do one. I figured it'd be pretty boring just sitting there watching me."

"You could never be boring." Willy says too quickly, and stares intently ahead until the moment of his stupidity passes. Kas better ready himself for another wild ride of Willy being romantically incompetent.

"Thanks," Zach replies easily, and throws the dough in front of him. "Okay, make it into a u shape. Wait, are your hands clean?"

"You made me wash them before I came around here." He says, and does as he's told.

"Perfect, now bring the two ends together and twist them over each other."

He flushes at the tiny, _single word_ of praise, and immediately wants to strangle himself with the stupid fucking pretzel string.

Because he's distracted, he idles with the dough too long, and it sticks when he tries to peel it up from the marble. When he tries again it starts to stretch unevenly, and now he's overthinking about how such a tiny mistake is spiralling, and it's a metaphor for his life and everything is _awful_ and -

Zach reaches one of his arms over Willy's and guides his hand to dip his fingers into the bowl of ice to his right. It's freezing, naturally, but the bits where Zach's fingers hold are still warm.

That's flirting. He's fairly sure. Maybe.

"Okay, try again." Zach says, normally, when Willy dries off. Like Willy isn't thinking about how he has nice hands. He's pretty sure he does the pretzel right this time out of his crippling to be praised and liked. He'll ask Kas about it later.

_Hey dude, if your girl nearly pressed against your back tenderly, and held you by the wrist and fingers, and guided you to make a sweet treat, would you think she wanted to bang you? Kas? Why are you saying you want to drown yourself? Can I have your girlfriend's number and ask her? Why are you locking your door?_

"Not bad for a first try." Zach murmurs, and uses a palette knife to put into onto a tray. "Your hands are just warm, not ideal for baking."

Willy gnaws his lip to stop the dumb smile, and he's not entirely sure he's imagining it when Zach's eyes flick to his mouth. _Huh_.

He can almost feel the phantom warmth against his back and side.

"I need to go." Zach says, nudging him back to sitting out of the way as he clears up. Willy is briefly consumed by the need to like, yank Zach close and pull him down to kiss, and wrap his legs around him.

"I need to head home. Do you need a ride?"

"Huh?"

"Do you need a ride? Didn't you walk here? The snow's gotten worse."

Willy has 0 control over his brain, because he has a cheesy teen girl movie image in his head of Zach reaching and squeezing his thigh as they wait at a stop light.

He takes a deep breath and pins on his best "_I'm totally not crazy about you"_ smile.

"Sure." He says.


	5. grit your teeth and keep your distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I eat plenty, baby."
> 
> Nolan grits his teeth at the petname and doesn't think about the casual touches that are commonplace between them, the hand around the wrist, the way TK could absolutely hold him down even though he has a height advantage, and the way he'd absolutely let him.
> 
> He glances up, and Travis is staring at him.
> 
> "Nolan?"
> 
> "That's not what I meant." He says, breath shaking. "I didn't mean what I bring you from the kitchen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a preview of shitty Halloween fic I'm doing. Set in a vague 1930s time period, with more homoeroticism than you ever thought possible, and something demonic. 
> 
> Please enjoy this trope filled mess!

"You don't eat enough." Nolan says to him one night. The room he's set up for himself in the hayloft is decent enough. His profile is burnished from the lamp light.

Travis scrapes at the bowl of stew Nolan brought him out pointedly, knocking their knees together.

"I eat plenty, baby."

Nolan grits his teeth at the petname and doesn't think about the casual touches that are commonplace between them, the hand around the wrist, the way TK could absolutely hold him down even though he has a height advantage, and the way he'd absolutely let him.

He glances up, and Travis is staring at him.

"Nolan?"

"That's not what I meant." He says, breath shaking. "I didn't mean what I bring you from the kitchen."

_Silence_.

He could have planned this better. There's no easy route out, if Travis did decide to cut his losses, kill him as easy as he breathes. He'd have to go around him, down the ladder, out of the door, all with the tools strewn about down there.

He flinches like maybe he will move, but Travis' hand is balled in the front of his shirt before he can even blink, and what's probably the most damning thing is how Nolan relaxes with it, he doesn't feel scared from it. He _wants_. The petnames and casual touches, glances on his part at the sheer breadth of Travis' shoulders that he wants to scratch at.

(Glances he's wondered if were returned when he's alone in bed, when he's fucking up into his fist and picturing Travis' hands on his skin, chest, stomach, spreading his thighs apart and keeping them that way, hand slipping upwards -)

He lets go of Nolan's shirt, hand threading into his hair and he twists just enough that it stings. _Come on_, he thinks. _Do it, come on, do something, you fucking coward, you -_

Travis kisses him.

-

When Travis arrived, battered and bruised, looking for work, Nolan didn't think his mom would actually accept. He fetched her to the gate and eyeballed her over Travis' shoulder. _Say no,_ he thought, like he could make her hear telepathically. His sisters ignored him too, which - fucking typical.

But his mom was realistic, and even if Nolan won't acknowledge his fucked over knee, and how sometimes he needs to prop it up close to the fire to get the pain to lessen, she would.

He was still bitter about it, though. Plenty of people drift further and further from the city, looking for jobs. They were just unfortunate enough to live on the very edge of a city, bridging the gap between true rural and shitty outskirt. Further enough out that maybe there'd be work, close enough to the big city to be able to hitch a ride to see their family once a month, if permitted.

Nolan had been able to see, logically, the appeal. He'd still scowled when his mom sent him with a plate of food and armful of blankets to the barn. Still gave short, one-word answers to how Travis apparently wanted his whole life story and wouldn't shut up, but weirdly compelled watching him set up a cot and hang his clothes over the beams. He'd finally stomped off after being needled some more and given the third or so petname. Travis hadn't noticed he'd been pissed.

Nolan had hoped, meanly, that the barn was cold and draughty.

-

One night, when the rain had lashed against the windows and his mom made up a usual hot meal for him to take their newest addition, he'd whined, frustrated at himself, at the twinge in his hip, at the cold, the damp, anything. This had been happening for months, a routine, but he still hadn't been able to bite his tongue.

"Can't Ivan do it?" He grumbled, kicking the ground like a kid. The cat, tired from her mousing, opened a single yellow eye at him from where she was laid against the grate.

He'd known it was a stupid suggestion, because Ivan was all the way out in his cottage on the edge of their land, and there was no telephone. His mom had sighed as she down the kitchen table.

"Nolan -"

"Can't he come here?"

He'd only noticed how her actions had slowed to a careful stop in hindsight.

"No, he can't."

It'd sounded final, but he'd pestered.

"Why not, Ivan comes in here. Ivan raids the fucking cupboards!"

His mom'd looked up at him, eyes calm, not even admonish ingredients him for his language.

"Don't let him in."

The silence stretched, uncomfortable.

"I'll go at eight."


	6. good job you're cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't believe she has your hair." Gabe says, gently winding a strand of it around her little finger. "Unlucky for her."
> 
> Tyson glowers at her in as much as someone in a fluffy bathrobe can glower. Baby grumbles.
> 
> She's two weeks old and really hates her scratch mitts and Tyson looks at her sometimes and internally screams, and this morning she got Gabe to Google if you put hair conditioner on babies. On the hair, not just dunk them in it, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me writing more rule 63 kid fic? Shocking! Surprising! Predictable!

"I can't believe she has your hair." Gabe says, gently winding a strand of it around her little finger. "Unlucky for her."

Tyson glowers at her in as much as someone in a fluffy bathrobe can glower. Baby grumbles.

She's two weeks old and really hates her scratch mitts and Tyson looks at her sometimes and internally screams, and this morning she got Gabe to Google if you put hair conditioner on babies. On the hair, not just dunk them in it, obviously.

Gabe laughed at her when she clarified that and she'd maybe whined a bit because she can only have maybe two coffees a day, so her judgement is maybe cloudy.

"She lucked out, are you kidding? Curly hair is better."

"Well shit, guess I'll leave then."

Tyson knows she's joking, but she needs a drink and can't get up without waking their tiny and very loud daughter.

"If you do," She says seriously, "I will kill you with an ice cream scoop."

Gabe snorts, and somehow it's still attractive, and Tyson wants to bite her shoulders. Fucking baby books all talk about healing time and stitches and how long until you can fuck. They don't talk about how sometimes you don't have stitches, but you still need some time, but you also get unspeakably horny at the drop of a hat. She grumbles to herself under her breath.

"Any reason you specifically need it to be an ice cream scoop?"

Her hand has moved to fiddling with Tyson's hair and it takes her a long moment to reply.

"Want ice cream." She scowls, and Gabe generously doesn't comment that they both have the same expression when they're hungry, the same downturned grimace and general hangry mood.

"You know, some women lose their sweet tooth during pregnancy."

"Some women also lose their hair during pregnancy instead of what happened to me, where it just grew upwards and outwards. Some women don't need sex every hour. Some women kill their wi-"

"Oh my god, not the Netflix-special-in-the-making "some women kill whilst knocked up" speech again."

Baby scrunches her face up, and there's a terse moment until she falls back to sleep.

"See what happens when you don't fetch the goods? You almost start world war three."

Gabe laughs like she's not still insufferably hot, and Tyson definitely, definitely wants to bite.

"The goods. The goods. You're making it sound like a drug."

"Shut up. I'm being reasonable. I'm dying."

"Uhuh."

"Good job you're cute."

"I always have been. It's my special skill."

"Not hockey?"

"Nope."

Gabe kneels down to kiss her forehead.

"I'll get the ice cream."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please validate me or I will die.


	7. clean and sharp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Travis had a weird way where sometimes he fussed too much and made him feel too warm and delicate, sometimes he knew that Nolan needed roughing up. Being bitten was just the right kind clean, sharp pain. He does it again exactly where his neck joins his jaw, and sucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, this is mob au again. no i won't shut up about it.

"I'd fuck anyone up, just say the word and I would."

Nolan blames how cold it is for like, suddenly feeling very warm, which doesn't make sense even to him, but he's got his scarf pulled so far up over his face only his eyes are visible anyway, so Travis can't make some rosy cheek joke.

"Oh, because you're _so_ threatening." He mutters, rolling his eyes, though Travis _can_ in fact be threatening to people that cross them, and he's maybe guiltily jerked off about it a handful of times.

_Whatever_. He can blame both adrenaline and poor decision making, because the freakouts he's had were never about the _gay_ thing, they were about the _Travis_ thing. Even then, all that took to get over was drinking neat vodka as he knelt on the bathroom floor and tweezered a piece of glass out of Travis' hand.

He still kind of gags thinking about it, but the little v-shaped scar it left behind looks kind of like the outline of a bird, which Travis thinks is cool. _Dumbass_.

"Earth to Patty" Travis grouses at him, kicking his leg. "Take this, whore."

He holds out the tray of coffees whilst he gets the door, and then they're back in the bleakness of December in Philly.

"Do you give everyone demeaning nicknames?" He says, but takes the stupid drinks.

"Technically, it's an insult. I mean, I know you like being called _baby_ \- that's a pet name - but I gotta switch it up every so often. Keep you on your toes."

Nolan knows he's being needled. That's a pet name, _yeah, thanks for clarifying, asshole_. He's not as dumb as he looks, in like, 5 layers of clothes and Travis' stupid camo beanie, but he's still outraged. Gotta defend his dignity or some shit.   
  
"Shut up, idiot." He mutters, kicking the tyres of Travis' stupid truck to get the snow off of his shoes. "All you do is run stupid errands and dish out beatings."

He takes his sickeningly festive drink when they've climbed in, then he really can't hide how he's turned pink.

"Correction." Travis says, smug and stupid and someone Nolan regrets being into. He grabs Nolan's free hand. "All _we_ do is run stupid errands and dish it out."

Nolan squawks some sort of outraged noise. Travis smooches his cheek. Nolan tries not to slosh Claude's stupid tea all over his lap.

It's a pretty standard morning.

-  
  
The thing is, Travis can fuck someone up. Nolan has seen it happen more times than he can count. Most recently it had been when someone who'd gotten too big for their boots hit him in the ribs and back so hard with a piece of pipe he'd ended up sprawled, and as he was gasping for breath on the kitchen floor of his bougie apartment, he'd seen it.

Not their usual "knock 'em out and get out of there" shit, but really meaning it. Calculated and livid, eyes flashing as he'd swung on him and split his knuckles on the guy's teeth, the wet crunch of him breaking his nose and - he'd heaved himself up by then, and Travis let the guy crumple to the floor favor of fussing. It'd been such a switch up he'd nearly laughed.

Nolan's only excuse for letting him is that he was distantly aware one of his ribs might be fucked, and that he'd glanced at his phone and seen that Ivan would be here to clean up in a few minutes. He'd no idea if "clean up" meant "terrify the guy into giving up infringing on their turf", or if he was in bigger trouble. He didn't care.

Travis just wrapped an arm around him and bullied him into the elevator, and kept up the fussing right up until they were back at their apartment.

He'd poked and prodded at him until he was satisfied that his ribs were only fucked insomuch as they were bruised, and Nolan stared at where his tee stretched thin over his shoulders as he scrubbed his knuckles in the kitchen sink. Normally it'd be gross or something, but the transition from "we almost got real hurt" to "but we didn't" just made him want to lick the blood off Travis' forearm and then suck his dick.

Worst of all, Travis knew that. He knew that Nolan got this way, that they both did, and after he'd pulled his tee off to throw in the washer he'd yanked Nolan down by his own shirt and smashed their mouths together.

It wasn't elegant, and his side twinged, he couldn't find it in himself to give a shit. Travis hauled him up again and to set his teeth against his throat and bite down. It fucking hurt just like he wanted it to, because Travis had a weird way where sometimes he fussed too much and made him feel too warm and delicate, sometimes he knew that Nolan needed roughing up. Being bitten was just the right kind clean, sharp pain. He does it again exactly where his neck joins his jaw, and sucks.

Nolan's hands try and and hook into his belt loops so he can maybe drag him to the couch and get on his knees, but Travis had stepped back. Nolan wasn't proud of how he'd whined and spread his legs wider, trying to look (admittedly cheaply) appealing. It hadn't worked.

"Nuh-uh. Not like this. Don't want you hurting yourself, baby."

Nolan valiantly ignored being called that, because it always made him feel _weirdhotgood_ and he didn't have time to try and articulate that right now.

"The fuck, come back."

It was having the opposite effect, because he was just moving further away. He tried catching at him again, and it backfired when Travis grabbed at the back of his neck and squeezed, tilting his head so Nolan would look him in the eye. One of Nolan's arms nearly gave way against the counter from how it made his skin prickle head to toe, a slow, crawling shudder making its way through him.

"No. Come to bed properly." He said, about as calm and firm as he ever had. His other hand rose to pinch Nolan's bottom lip and laugh under his breath when Nolan tried to mouth at them.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TK is a service top no i will not debate this.


	8. displayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wouldn't you let Nate have a go on you, if she killed it out there for us? I don't know why I'm asking. You're too easy not to." 
> 
> She fucks three into her, rough, and Tyson grunts softly.
> 
> "I'd spread your legs open for her a - actually, no. You can kneel. Snugged right in her lap, back to her chest. I want to look you in the eye when you take it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending the new year with a bang, eh?

Tyson is fairly sure that the potential for disaster in copying sexy shit she's seen in films is like, huge. It sounds like a movie scene in itself, where the hot mess protagonist (her) tries to do the "lingerie under a big coat and nothing else" thing, then the out of her league love interest (Gabe) will sweep her off of her feet and ravish her vikingly or whatever. She'll be a dumbass praying to god that she doesn't rip one of the thigh highs just by existing, Gabe will be the tall blonde swede with hair from one of those weirdly sexual shampoo commercials. A happy ending with 4.5 blonde kids with fiveheads performing whatever blood sacrifices happen on the longest day of the year. 

Tyson is fairly sure that's what midsommar is, anyway. Gabe was shirtless when she was explaining and Tyson had to chew her own hands not to say something dumb like "You could was laundry on those abs"."

Knowing her luck, she'll lurch from disaster to disaster until she arrives at Gabe's apartment having being splashed by a puddle and snowed on, mascara a ghoulish state, and Gabe won't answer the door in account of her looking a mess, and _wow_, that got sad fast. She's not even wearing mascara.

She slaps her cheeks a couple of times and shakes herself.

_Snap out of it, she thinks. You have $800 of lingerie on right now. You got this. Canadian dollars, but still._

None of that, of course, stops her from being wet and squirming with her thighs pressed together.

-

Gabe pins her to the door before it's even shut properly and nips her jaw and the high point of her cheekbone. Tyson laughs because it's so dumb and then Gabe rips a button off of her coat, hooks her underwear to one side, and pushes two fingers inside her without any more preamble.

"Fuck-"

It's so _good_.

"_Christ_, you're this wet already, baby?" Gabe says, somehow curling her fingers just right at the same time she undoes the other buttons and shoves it off of Tyson's shoulders. Whatever, it's Gabe's anyway. Tyson isn't going to devote any of her time to thinking about a fucking _coat_ when she can dig her fingers into Gabe's back and try not whine.

Gabe spreads her fingers and it pushes Tyson onto tiptoe in shock. They're eye level now.

"Hey." Gabe says, casual. Tyson wants to do something rational like say _oh fuck, give me babies._

"Fuck off. Make me come." She says. Whines.

Gabe raises her stupid too pale eyebrows and slips her fingers out to slap her thigh.

"Don't be a brat." She says, and there's something sharp in her tone that Tyson wants to needle at. 

She can feel the sting of Gabe's hand, and the way it's left behind a smear of her wetness on her skin. 

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, s_he whimpers. She needs something in her so badly, so desperate she could cry. Time to go for broke. 

"Please -" She chokes, and Gabe freezes for a half second, posture shifting subtly to something else. 

"You're so _needy_, sweetheart." Gabe says, stroking over her hole without the tips of two fingers. It feels humiliating and she can't get enough of it. "I bet you'd be anyone's whore if I didn't own your little cunt, huh?" 

Tyson flinches, trying to ride her fingers, but it's a futile effort.

"Come on, please-"

"Wouldn't you?"

"N-no, of course I wouldn't, _fuck_-"

She slips just the tips of her fingers into her and it makes the filthy shit Tyson usually reserves for late nights when she needs to come real, real quick. Stuff about Gabe punishing her by only fucking into her with the strap when she's ready to come herself, and if Tyson can't get off in that time, that's her problem.

"Really? Not even someone who really, really deserved it-?"

Tyson feels her blood run hotter from shame, because _oh_. This is how Gabe wants to play it. 

"Wouldn't you let Nate have a go on you, if she killed it out there for us? I don't know why I'm asking. You're too easy not to." 

She fucks three into her, rough, and Tyson grunts softly.

"I'd spread your legs open for her a - actually, no. You can kneel. Snugged right in her lap, back to her chest. I want to look you in the eye when you take it."

Tyson's eyes prickle. They're mostly just breathing into each other's mouths at this point, and she strains to keep still because Gabe didn't say she could move. 

Gabe moves so that the heel of her hand is pressed Tyson's clit and she's been desperate for so long that she knows she'd only need to grind a handful of times to come. 

"Would you be good for her, baby? It's her reward, you should do most of the work, right? You should be the one that does all the work. I could tell her what you like. How to pull your hair so your pussy clenches good and tight for her."

"Gabe please, please, please, _please_ -" She whimpers, because she's pressed just right against her now, thumb slick and pressed to her clit, but she doesn't want to come unless she gets told she can.

"Fuck, you'd take the strap so _pretty_, baby."

"Please let me come, please -"

Gabe shushes her, sucking a mark into her neck. 

"It's okay, honey. You can get off. Be good, come for me."

Tyson arches her back, hips rocking shamelessly, nearly, nearly, 

Then Gabe bites her jaw and growls _come_ under her breath, not a question.

Tyson is absolutely helpless to do anything but do as she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, looking at any given pairing: what if they were dykes?
> 
> Thank you for reading, let me know what you think! Alternatively, I'm on tumblr @butchtysonbarrie. Come scream with me and / or give me prompts. Happy secular new year!


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